An Encounter with Death
by Kidduffet
Summary: Simple, short, dribblish thing to get back into it. It might grow into a larger story, but i'm working on another now, that could potentially tie in with this. WoW will come when i get there.


Prologue

The child had been unremarkable until then, aside from its eyes, which were somewhere between blue and green with one color dominating: a rather happy, healthy pinkish hue. Its blond hair was messy and short; apparently, a haircut had been a long time coming, and finally Mom decided to pick up the scissors and make do with what she knew.

The tyke made slight gurgling noises as its eyes swerved around its small bedroom; there was nothing much there – it was just a regular bedroom with yellow curtains, pink cushions with pictures on them, and a variety of toys. An old jack-in-the-box smiled upwards and at an odd angle on one of the shelves, sitting alongside a variety of equally ancient playthings. The four-year old could not reach any of them, of course. The door in the corner led to the attic, where most of the other toys were stored.

The room might've seemed all right, nondescript and passable for a child that age, but upon closer inspection, it was clear it was rather neglected; the wallpaper was dirty and smudged, and a thin layer of dust covered most of the flat surfaces. The fact that someone could've easily cast a simple spell to clean hadn't appeared to enter the occupants' minds, or perhaps they were Squibs. The fact that there were various magical spheres displaying solar systems showed that they at least knew of the wizarding world.

The child was a strange one. Not just because of its blond hair, whereas its parents were both brunette – but because the child had not spoken a word since it had been born; something the staff at St. Mungo's couldn't figure out, and which often provoked the child's parents' long, harsh fights.

The nestling's first word would be spoken not an hour after it had been sitting there idly in its small, seemingly cozy bedroom. There would be only one other person in the room, and that person would never tell another living soul what he had seen and heard.

"You're never at home!" yelled a young woman, breaking the fragile silence that had dominated the house. The woman that was speaking was perhaps thirty-five years old, a little older maybe, since she was a witch and could always use some cosmetic spells (such as the Eye-Lift Charm – which is rather horrifying when used improperly.)

She was holding the horn of a rather old telephone, which was only one of the various Muggle artifacts scattered around – most notably the broken, upside down television that was not connected to a plug in any way, but was still emitting a soft buzzing sound.

"Be home early, please," the woman continued in a much softer tone, as if the person on the other side of the line had said something soothing. "I'll have dinner ready in an hour. Please be here."

The telephone beeped as she pressed the button, and the woman slumped down in a comfortable chair near the large fireplace which had not been used for months – not for Floo travel, anyway. It was winter outside, cold and stormy, and it was now warming the little cottage almost the entire day with its small but warm magical flames.

The child, meanwhile, had climbed out of the bed in the upstairs bedroom to play for a bit in the attic beyond. The door couldn't be properly closed, so it was simply blocked by some toys – not a good defense against a nosy child. From inside resounded a soft, scratching sound, attracting the youngster's attention immediately.

The woman dialed a long and complicated number belonging to a good friend that lived just barely in another state. At least she could be reached, however, unlike some of her more exotic friends from the British Isles and Russia.

"Mary! How good to hear from you!" the woman said a moment after her friend picked up the phone, despite being the one who was calling. She listened only briefly, before rapidly firing a few answers. "Yes, yes, everything's fine around here, and we've had no trouble with the diapers. No, no, the color is fine."

The cat trembled in the corner, its claws ready to strike. It was, however, simply wary – it was a mere kitten, and the child that was looking at it with wide eyes didn't look particularly threatening. Not yet, anyway.

"Yeah, my husband'll be late too – I bet it's for that same reason. Yes, they're really trying to get all the money out of 'em this year." The woman smiled, rubbing her head with the large ring she wore: a brilliant ruby, or an imitaiton thereof.

The cat was positively mortified now: the child was barely a few inches away, and neither side of the corner was easily passable due to a lot of old boxes with Christmas decorations blocking the way. The only path led straight through the small child who was enthusiastically waving its hands. The feline stretched its claws and got ready to go.

"Now that you mention it, I should be checking," the woman downstairs concluded, smiling slightly as she hung up and raised herself from the cozy chair.

She looked at her clock, which had been inconvieniently placed straight above the chair. She'd tried to convince her husband to hang it somewhere else, but he'd never gotten around to it. The clock was a special one – its hands were each meant for one person in the household, and the twelve numbers had been replaced by a situation. They were quite popular lately, since they had continued to work properly after the war with Voldemort had been won by Harry Potter, and at the age of one at that!

At the moment, two arrows were at 'At Home' and one was 'At Work' She sat down again, satisfied – with the clock immediately identifying the status of the child upstairs, she didn't have to check so often.

The cat struggled against the toddler's grip – her claws managed to tear some holes in the child's sweater and even drew some blood – but it was child against child, and the human one was just a bit heavier, a bit stronger, and most definitely a lot less terrified.

A buzz went off; first, she wondered if it was the Sneakoscope, then checked to see if it was the burglar-buzzer; neither were reacting, though. It took the woman a few moments to realize it was the clock behind her; the whizzing sound came from one of the three arms, which was currently turning counter-clockwise at an enormous speed, not appearing to stop anywhere.

"Oh, no… left… not this…" the woman mouthed, her hand clasping her mouth involuntarily as her eyes bulged, "not now!"

She ran up the stairs as the front door opened and the haggard figure of her husband entered; he immediately followed her as he caught sight of the clock, not even stopping to put his coat away.

What the parents saw when they found their child in the attic was so horrifying that the woman promptly fainted, and stayed that way for nearly a full day. She slumped to the floor, hitting her head solidly on the wooden floor, a scream never leaving her mouth.

The husband smiled.

In the middle of the room, the child sat next to the quivering corpse of the kitten. Its eyes were growing dimmer as its blood seeped out of the colossal wounds in its side, where a long, twisted knife reared into the air. It seemed far too large for the child too handle – but it had been used, the fierce, raging look on the angelic face was enough proof. The knife, which the child was turning around slowly, was covered in greasy smears of scarlet blood from top to bottom, and already more stains covered the oak-wood chamber; they would never be fully removed.

The child caught sight of his dad – but it looked back down immediately, its eyes huge as they watched the intestines, the fluid of life, the essence of life itself, drain away from that pitiful little bundle of fur which it had so mercilessly murdered with a conjured knife.

And the child said its first word, or at least tried to, its eyes directly locked onto its father's again, a devilish smile playing on its mouth.

'Boo-tifool.'


End file.
